


The magical properties of mango trees

by isquinnabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Lost
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Wandlore, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Luna’s plane crashed on a Pacific island, her wand was damaged beyond repair. She couldn’t be of any use to the other survivors until she managed to fashion a new wand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The magical properties of mango trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> Written for flipflop_diva, for crossover exchange 2015. I hope you like it!
> 
> Many of the cool wandlore specifics in this fic (e.g. the types of wood and the kinds of wizards they choose) are from Pottermore. 
> 
> Thank you to ozqueen for being, as always, a wonderful beta & idea-bouncer-offer & wizard duel second.

  
Luna woke with a mouthful of sand and a pounding headache.

She had only been awake for a few seconds, barely registering the metallic groans and frantic shouting, when somebody yanked at her arm. Moments later, the wing collapsed; the resulting explosion left her flat on her stomach, coughing hard, with her arms shielding her head.

If she hadn’t been forced to stumble into a run, she’d have been killed instantly.

\---

She had never felt so helpless in her life.

It wasn’t the first time Luna had found herself in a scene like this one. Swap out the plane wreckage for the collapsing rubble of Hogwarts, and it wasn’t all that different from the night of the battle. In both scenes, the grievously injured were screaming in pain, and the dead lay broken on the ground with fixed stares and bloodstained clothes. Both were the sorts of horrific scenarios that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life, but this time they weren’t fighting for anything. There would be no triumphant victory to give today’s deaths any meaning and purpose. This was completely senseless.

Even worse, unlike at Hogwarts, Luna couldn’t help anybody. There was no dittany, no murtlap. She didn’t even have a wand; she had hidden it in her sock for the flight, and it had snapped in two during the crash. She could feel the jagged edge of one fragment scratching at her ankle, while the other had worked its way under the arch of her foot.

She was stranded on an island, with injured muggles and no wand. How could she help anybody without a wand?  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Exactly two hundred and fifty-four days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Ollivanders reopened its shopfront in Diagon Alley. Luna’s hand-painted banner hung in the window, and large numbers of shoppers were drawn to the shabby little wandmaking shop.

Luna rather enjoyed herself on that first day. Many of the day’s customers had stopped by simply to express their pleasure that Ollivanders had returned; Diagon Alley was slowly returning to normal, and the reopening of yet another shop was cause for celebration. Mr Ollivander had been quite pleased to see each guest, and he remembered the composition of every single one of their wands. He was still thin and drawn from his months in the dungeon, and his eyes had a haunted look about them that would probably never go away entirely. Still, Luna had never seen him so content. She hummed to herself as she cast scourgify charms over the floor, clearing away the dirty snow tracked in by the day’s final customer.

“You did very well with the Milton girl,” commented Ollivander.

Calliope Milton had been a young girl who came into the shop at about midday. Of all the customers wanting to buy, she had been the only one looking for her very first wand. Everybody else had come to replace one that had been lost or destroyed in the war. Calliope had been a shy little thing, constantly looking to her aunt for reassurance.

Luna wasn’t ready to conduct wand fittings on her own. In fact, she had expected to spend the day simply observing Mr Ollivander. But Calliope had been a very difficult fit, and the wand that eventually chose her had been suggested by Luna.

“What made you decide to try the ash wand?”  
“Ash and phoenix feather,” recited Luna. “Ten and a half inches. Flexible.”  
“Flexibility to such an extent is very unusual with that combination.”  
Luna twisted her hair around her fingers, and proceeded to gaze dreamily out the window.  
“I wasn’t thinking about the flexibility,” she finally answered. “I just thought she might suit an ash wand.”  
“Why is that?”  
“Well, she was very nervous today, but I think she might be quite strong-willed. And she was certainly brave. Did you see looks that she and her aunt exchanged?”  
Ollivander’s silver eyes brightened.  
“And what have you learnt about ash wands?”  
“That their owners are likely to be stubborn and brave, but not brash or arrogant.” She tilted her head. “It’s odd, though. I had most of my classes with Herbert Malley. He had an ash wand, and he was terribly arrogant. But I suppose wands are a bit more complicated than that. People, too.” 

Luna retuned to her work, and Ollivander smiled.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Are you alright?” she asked, sinking to her knees. “Do you need any help?”  
The girl gave a weak sort of smile.  
“I’m alright. I haven’t had any more contractions.”

The girl went back to staring at the fire. She was about the same age as Luna herself, and extremely pregnant. She looked terribly sad, but Luna supposed that was normal enough. She wasn’t exactly feeling cheerful herself. Her stomach twisted painfully every time she thought of Daddy, because he probably thought she was dead. Again. She didn’t know how long a muggle rescue could be expected to take, but she hoped they’d come soon. She couldn’t bear the thought of Daddy going through this all over again.

“You should wear lavender,” Luna suggested.  
The girl blinked.  
“What, the colour?”  
“No, the plant. Weave some into your buttonholes, or scatter the flowers through your hair. Babies like lavender.”  
The girl smiled, and this time it was almost a proper one.  
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Companionable silence was one of Luna’s favourite things, especially when accompanied by cool night air and a campfire. It wasn’t the best of circumstances, but she supposed she’d have to take what she could get.

Now was as good a time as any to properly mourn for her wand. She’d trodden on it all afternoon; the urgency of the situation had outweighed how uncomfortable it was to have a broken piece of wand wood underfoot. She slipped off her shoes and fished the fragments out of her right sock.

“I’m Claire,” offered the girl, after a few minutes had passed.  
“Hello, Claire. I’m Luna.”

Her wand was beyond repair. The exposed unicorn hair glinted in the firelight, and tiny splinters were flaking away from the rough edge of the broken wood. Luna felt like she might cry. She had dearly loved this wand. Mr Ollivander had made it especially for her, after Dobby had rescued them all from the dungeon. It had been a perfect fit. It had always worked beautifully, even better than her old wand. It had come to represent everything good about the life she had built for herself after the war. She’d been happy. Everything had finally felt right.

“What’s that?”  
Luna sighed. “I don’t suppose it matters anymore.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The upstairs of the shop was for staff only. It consisted of a kitchenette, a small workroom, and several floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Luna took to spending her lunch breaks perched on the windowsill, gnawing on the ends of her hair, devouring thick tomes on wandlore and related disciplines. Her brain buzzed with questions, and every satisfactory answer led to multitudes of additional questions. The more she knew, the more aware she became of her ignorance. The enormously complicated world of wandmaking grew larger each day, both through her tasks as an apprentice, and through her own reading.

The act of constructing a wand was technically possible for anyone with the right supplies and the right touch. The trouble, and the danger, lay in identifying those supplies and developing the right touch. It took a lot of study to be able to build an adequate wand. Furthermore, an adequate wand was not a sellable wand.

Ollivander prided himself in two things: high quality, and variety. The importance of high quality wands was, of course, due to their capability to produce immensely powerful magic. The importance of variety was to ensure that a customer was as likely as possible to meet a perfect match. To bring out the very best in a new wand, an Ollivander wandmaker needed intimate knowledge of how woods and cores were likely to combine, their potential problems, and possible solutions. There was a fine line between the inherent quirks found in the different wood types, and an annoying peculiarity caused by a wandmaker’s mishandling of an unfinished wand.

Luna’s first attempt at wand construction involved alder and unicorn hair. The final product had successfully conducted some magic, but it was very intermittent. Ollivander had made the very same wand that day, step-by-step, alongside Luna. To an untrained observer, the two wands would have looked identical. But his subtle differences in wood handling and core balance made for a far superior result.

Luna had chosen an extremely difficult path. In a field like this, she could never learn everything there was to know. She was loving every second of it.

\---

“Luna,” said Ollivander. “How do you feel about travel?”

Luna was extracting the strings from a dragon heart. It was precise work. Not only did each heartstring need to be in perfect condition, but the rest of the heart also needed to remain useable. They usually sold the remainder of their dragon hearts, as well as some of its other organs, to the nearby apothecary. Over the centuries, Ollivanders had developed excellent relationships with other businesses in Diagon Alley, and even a few in Knockturn Alley. The apothecaries took various dragon innards and leftover unicorn hairs; the menagerie and Eeylops Owl Emporium were in constant need of wood shavings; and the joke shop took all sorts of odd things. Wandmaking used very specific ingredients, which left the potential for a lot of waste. Trade was their main source of income. Wands didn’t exactly have a high turnover.

“Travelling where?”  
“I have some associates in other parts of the world. Other wandmakers. I think you could learn quite a lot from them.”  
Luna frowned. “I thought you said wandmakers were secretive.”  
“Oh, they won’t teach you any of their secrets,” chuckled Ollivander. “Just the basics, but specific to their region. All things you could learn from a book, but it’s a far richer experience to learn in person. Are you interested?”  
Luna looked thoughtful. “Yes. I think I’d quite like to travel. Where would I be going?”  
“I think you’d get the most out of a visit to Diane Murray, and to Alan Watson. Diane is in Australia, and Alan is in the United States.”

Luna was briefly disappointed – she’d been hoping to visit Sweden again. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were continuing to prove elusive, and perhaps a Swedish wandmaker could have shed some light on their whereabouts. But she wasn’t disappointed for long. 

“Australia?” she asked, some of the dreaminess in her eyes giving way to excitement. “And America? I’d love to! I’ve never been to either of those places!”  
Ollivander smiled. “Excellent. I’ll book you on a muggle flight from Heathrow to Sydney, and another from Sydney to Los Angeles.”  
“Muggle flights?”  
Ollivander sighed.  
“Portkeys in and out of Australia are irregular, and terribly expensive. Unfortunately, muggle travel is the best option. Think of it as an exercise in patience.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
When magic wasn’t involved, things got done very differently. As the weeks slipped by and rescue stubbornly refused to come, Luna learnt a few things about how muggles solved their problems. Sayid, in particular, was fascinating to Luna. She watched him work on the transceiver, intense concentration on his face as he set about disconnecting and reconnecting various wires. It was wonderful. She couldn’t help feeling as though electricity was a type of magic in and of itself.

Still, she was far more comfortable with her own brand of magic. Being without a wand was absolutely crippling. With each passing day, she saw more ways she could have used her magic to help. For instance, she could have lit up the sky with fireworks as early as the first night, and made them easier to find. Had she done that, perhaps they would already be home. Or she could have been of enormous assistance to Jack over those first few days, when there were people were sporting serious injuries. Or some Aguamenti charms would have been invaluable when the fresh water began to run low.

Her only way to help had been to write letters, and that’s exactly what she had tried to do. She had written letters to Daddy, Mr Ollivander, and Ginny Weasley, all three of whom would have been very worried about her by now, but she couldn’t find a way to send them. She hadn’t yet found an owl. Plus, after extensive attempts at conversation with the island’s bird population, she was yet to find one that understood the concept of Owl Post.

\---

“You spend a lot of time with that Luna girl, yeah?”

Luna was curled up under a piece of the wreckage, trying to get to sleep. There were an awful lot of places she’d rather be right now, but she’d endured substantially worse. The night-time sounds on this island were actually quite pleasant; the crackling signal fire, for instance, or the ocean lapping calmly against the shore. Assuming, of course, that the Monster wouldn’t make another appearance. Or that Charlie wasn’t about to indulge in his late-night chatting habit.

“Yeah, I guess. She helped a lot with the memorial. I like her.”  
“Yeah, she’s alright. A bit mad, though.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Haven’t you seen her up by the tree line, talking to birds?”  
“Lots of people talk to animals, Charlie. It’s not that weird.”  
“I don’t mean like the way you’d talk to a pet, I mean the way you’d talk to another person. Like, expecting it to answer back.”  
“Well,” Claire said sleepily. “Maybe she knows something about birds that we don’t.”  
“Like how to hitch a ride back to civilisation?”  
“Yes. Exactly.”  
“God. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Their conversation petered out. Luna, gazing into the stars, couldn’t help but feel quite lucky. Of all the places to be stranded, and of all the people to be stranded with, this situation seemed alright. She wanted very badly to go home, of course, but she could live with this for now. She went to sleep with a smile on her face, rather flattered by Claire and Charlie’s conversation. Whatever the circumstances, Luna had never been one to turn up her nose at potential friends.

\---

Unfortunately, optimism can only do so much. Rescue didn’t come. Time was marching onward, and Luna was making the best of it, but she grew as worried as anybody. When Claire was kidnapped, it was easily the worst event yet.

The incident gave Luna new resolve. Claire had been worried for her safety, and Luna had absolutely believed her, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. If she had had a wand, Claire would still be here. It was as simple as that. The entire camp was vulnerable, and she wasn’t going to let it stay that way.

It was time to accept that she wasn’t leaving this island anytime soon. She needed to create a new wand.

“What are you smilin’ at, Dr Dolittle? Thought you and Claire were friends.”  
It took an awful lot to disrupt any of Luna’s trains of thought. Sawyer choosing to saunter past was nowhere near enough to break her concentration. Everything that Mr Ollivander, his books, and his associates had ever taught her swam through her head as she gazed into the jungle.  
“Hello, Glen,” she replied vaguely. “You’re right. I do miss Claire. But I’m not smiling because I’m happy, I’m smiling because I have a renewed sense of purpose.”  
He stared at her.  
“What did you just call me?”  
The jungle was simply brimming with plants. There had to be wand quality wood in there somewhere. There was an extremely wide variety of greenery, probably far more than she’d even be able to recognise; this sort of vegetation wasn’t exactly her forte.  
“I called you Glen.”  
“That ain’t my name, wise ass.”  
“I know. I just like it.” She slung her bag over her shoulder, which was loaded up with bottled water and a few papayas. “Well, it was nice talking to you, but I have work to do. I’ll see you tonight.”  
“You’ve got _what_ to do? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”  
“The jungle.”  
“Are you kiddin’ me?” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re serious, you deserve to get kidnapped. Or eaten.”  
She smiled at him before turning towards the jungle.  
“I’ve survived worse.” 

\---

Luna was sitting cross-legged in a small clearing, palms flat against the soil, trying her best to sense any latent magic. She’d been at it for about five minutes when a voice barked, “Hey! Barefoot Susie!”  
“Over here,” she answered dreamily.  
Excessive crashing and rustling followed as Sawyer blundered into her clearing, irritably pushing palm fronds out of his face.  
“The hell are you doing down there?”  
“Thinking.”  
She hauled herself to her feet, brushing her palms against the sides of her jeans.  
“Did you follow me here?”  
“Well, you can’t damn well be in the jungle alone,” he snapped. “Not after what happened to Claire. Someone’s gotta keep you safe.”  
Luna’s face broke into a grin.  
“That’s very kind of you! Thank you, Glen.”  
“Yeah, whatever. Gonna tell me what you were doin’ on the ground?”  
“Feeling, mostly. Listening.” She picked up her bag, and tucked a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.  
“Ready?”  
She plunged headfirst into the tall grass, leaving him absolutely no time to answer.

\---

“Sometimes, the time of year is very important. English oak can’t be harvested at the moment, for example. Holly is King of the Forest until the winter solstice, so right now is the time to gather holly. Once the days are lengthening, oak becomes King again. Have you ever heard that saying, _when his wand’s oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly_?”  
“Can’t say that I have.”  
“It’s nonsense. At least, that’s what Mr Ollivander says. But he told me that it probably originated from the seasonal divide.”  
“Oh yeah? Did he also warn you not to piss off Oberon and Titania?”  
Luna gasped. “Stop!”

A few feet in front of them stood a solitary mango tree.

Luna gazed at it, wide-eyed, drinking in its stature and dignity. It was beautiful. She was completely oblivious to Sawyer’s impatient grunts as she crept forward, enraptured. This tree had to be wand quality. It simply had to.

“What are you doing now?”  
“Shh,” she whispered, and pressed an ear against the trunk. A wandmaker with decades of experience would have known what nuances to look for, even if they weren’t familiar with mango wood. Luna had nothing but a few years of study and her born instincts, and she couldn’t articulate exactly why she felt this way, but something about this tree felt right. It was exactly what she was looking for.  
“Help me break off a branch,” she said, pulling a rolled-up t-shirt out of her bag. When she unwrapped the stained shirt to produce a knife, Sawyer let out a low whistle.  
“Locke know you stole one of his knives to go tree hunting?”  
“Yes. I asked him last night.”  
“Course you did.” Sawyer rolled his eyes. “So, what now?”  
“Help me into the tree, please.”  


Sawyer grudgingly gave her a leg-up. Once she was in the tree, she clambered easily among its branches, carefully examining each one.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell are you looking for?”  
“I already did.”  
“Yeah, you rambled on about damn holly trees, and Kings of the Forest, and keepin’ an eye out for bone-tuckles –”  
“Bowtruckles,” she corrected. “And I don’t think they live in the tropics, but it’s still wise to keep alert.”  
“You’re crazy, you know that?”  
“Oh, good volume!” Luna peered down through the branches. “That’s just the right noise level to interest them. If there are any in this tree, that is. I don’t expect there are, or they’d be all over me already.”  
“Yeah, well, hurry up,” he said. “There’s enough danger in this jungle without adding territorial sticks, or whatever the hell those things are supposed to be.”  
“Alright,” agreed Luna. “I’m happy with this branch. Give me a moment to saw it off, and we can keep moving.”  
“Hallelujah.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It took some time for Luna to fully recover from the arduous flight to Sydney. Muggle travel was just as uncomfortable as wizard travel, but in a way that Luna was not accustomed to. It also took substantially longer, and by the time she staggered off the plane she felt she could sleep for an entire week.

One of Diane’s sons collected Luna from the airport to help her apparate to their property. They lived, he said, about a five hour drive from Sydney. Luna had never been so grateful for the existence of apparition.

“You can do a Sunscreen Charm, right?” he grinned, lugging her suitcase into a small guest bedroom. “You’ll need one. If you’re outside all day, recast it every two hours. We’ve only just hit spring, but the sun’s been out full bore lately. Skin like yours’ll never cope.”

\---

Diane Murray turned out to be a cheerful, freckled woman who looked similar in age to Luna’s father. She took Luna on a tour of her property, and was extremely thorough; Luna had had no idea that there were so many types of eucalypts, and that they could each produce such vastly different wands. Diane also had large greenhouses in which she grew tropical shrubs; she lived well below the equator, but wished to maintain a broad selection of plants from the northern parts of the country.

The wand woods were fascinating, but Luna found herself most interested in the substances Diane’s family used for cores.

“The unicorn tail hairs I use are similar to yours,” she explained, pouring Luna a large glass of iced water. “But they’re not identical. Unicorns are an introduced species, and they’ve had to change up their behaviour to survive in our conditions. Long story short, not one wild unicorn in Australia is pure unicorn. They’ve all got brumby blood in there somewhere.”  
“Brumby blood?”  
“Feral horses. Non-magical ones. Most of them are descended from horses that belonged to early European settlers and escaped, or got themselves lost. Of course, this also means a lot of brumbies are carrying elements of unicorn blood. Magical governance are always going off at each other about whether to reclassify them as magical creatures.”  
“Does it make a difference to the unicorn core wands?”  
“A bit. My family have used imported tail hairs from pure unicorns just as regularly as ones from Australian unicorns, and the results are very similar. There’s a bunch of little differences, but the only major one is their compatibility with each other. Australian unicorn wands work beautifully together, with a combined strength you can never guarantee in other cores .” Diane shrugged. “I’ve always put it down to herd dynamics coming through. Unicorns are solitary in a way that brumbies just aren’t.”

The next stop in the tour was a room off Diane’s workshop, in which there were enormous glass tanks. They were crisscrossed with webs, while spiders crept unnervingly along strategically placed leaves and twigs.

“These guys also produce wand cores for me,” said Diane proudly. “The tanks in here hold Medusa spiders, and the ones in the shed have Cave Screechers. Screechers need absolute dark to properly thrive. Plus, as their name suggests, they annoying as hell. No way I’m gonna keep them this close to my workshop. Ever worked with spiders before? Web strands or venom?”  
“No,” mused Luna. “Never. How dangerous are they?”  
“Screechers and they have some strong magic in them, but they aren’t dangerous. They’re bloody unnerving, though. They usually stick to caves, but sometimes they make nests for themselves in the foundations of houses. An awful lot of muggle haunting claims turn out to be those bastards. They’re pretty intelligent, I’m not convinced they don’t do it on purpose.”

Luna crouched down, staring into the nearest tank. The Medusa spiders were quite large. They were black, with yellow stripes down each leg.  
“What about these ones?”  
“Medusa spiders are dangerous, for sure. The venom is a controlled substance, because the only potions that use it are dark ones. But their webs come in handy. They’re as sticky and delicate as any other spider web, but they have incredibly powerful magic. They make for some intensely powerful wands.”  
With the exception of Acromantula, Luna hadn’t learnt much about any magical spiders. She had never had much to do with Acromantula venom; it was far too expensive for general student use at Hogwarts, and she’d never had any need for it as an adult. “How do you collect the webs?”  
“Wait for them to spin enough, move them to a new tank, clear out the webs,” she answered. “It’s pretty simple. Most important thing is to wear your gloves, in case one tried to bite you.”  
“What would happen if it did?”  
“You wouldn’t die, but you’d be paralysed for a solid eight hours. A Rejuvenation Draught will cure it, but it’s a tough potion to make so most people just ride out the paralysis. It’s okay if it happens at home, where everyone can keep an eye on you, but God help you if it happens in the bush. Sam got bitten in the workshop once. Our batch of Rejuvenation Draught hadn’t yet seen out the lunar cycle, so he spent the whole eight hours on his back..”  
“Are they common?”  
“Nah. They’re rare in the wild, thank goodness. There’s a place up around Cape York way where you can find them, but it’s heavily protected. The government put up muggle repelling charms all over their territory, for safety. If a muggle gets bitten, their doctors will assume that they’re dead. No matter how hard they listen, they won’t hear a heartbeat.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
As well as the branch of mango wood, Luna ended up with a chunk hacked off a banyan tree, and a length of vine that she hadn’t been able to identify. Both the banyan tree and the vine had given her the same intensely positive feeling that the mango tree had, so Luna declared her foray into the jungle a rousing success. She borrowed a different knife from Locke and begun to whittle each wood piece into something vaguely wand-shaped.

When Claire came back, Luna was overjoyed. But it was immediately apparent that she needed to redouble her wandmaking efforts. Claire had been obliviated. The others bandied about words like ‘amnesia’, but Luna suspected otherwise. And when Ethan killed Steve, all the unanswered questions left Luna feeling rather ill. How had Ethan got through their perimeter? Had he flown? Was he able to cast disillusionment charms on himself? If Ethan was a wizard, and there were others like him on this island, then the crash survivors had no hope. These muggles were extremely clever, but they were out of their depth if magic was involved.

”Good morning, Claire,” smiled Luna.  
Most of their camp had become a bit nervous around Claire. Luna and Charlie were the only people who really spoke to her, so Luna tried to make conversation as often as possible.  
Claire ducked her head. “Hi.”  
“Did you sleep well?”  
“Um… not really. I’m a bit too pregnant to get comfortable, I guess.”  
“You could sing a sea shanty,” suggested Luna.  
Claire looked confused, and took a bite of papaya instead of answering. Luna waited patiently for her response, but all she said after swallowing was a tentative, “I guess.”

Luna felt sad for her. It must be very disconcerting to have your memories go missing. She’d been hoping that talking with her might help, but it clearly hadn’t yet. 

“Would you like to meet everybody?” Luna asked. “I mean, I suppose you’ve already met them all, but if you can’t remember them they might as well be strangers.”  
Claire hesitated. “Are you sure? That might be kind of weird.”  
“It’s not weird. It’s just trying to wake up your memories. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”  
After some further hesitance, Claire obliged. Luna took her hand, and began to systematically introduce her to everyone on the beach. After six or seven awkward conversations, they approached Leslie Arzt’s little section of the camp. He was rummaging amongst his belongings, muttering to himself and looking rather annoyed.  
“You know, Luna, it was really nice of you to do this, but I think that’s enough for one day. Everyone’s really busy.”  
“Oh, it’s alright,” smiled Luna. “Leslie’s actually quite kind. He’s just a bit impatient.”  
“Well, either way, it’s probably best not to disturb him.” Claire took a few steps back. “Thanks, though. This was… this was good.”  
Luna let her go, feeling rather disappointed. Since she had no way to magically restore Claire’s memory, this was the best thing she could think to do. It didn’t seem to have helped very much.

“Good morning, Leslie,” said Luna, deciding to talk with him anyway.  
“Stay back!” he demanded, throwing his arms out sideways. “I’ve added some very dangerous specimens to my collection.”  
“Have you really?”  
“The way things are going on this island, I wouldn’t be surprised. Keep your distance.”  
“May I see them?”  
“No!” he exclaimed. “Of course not! For one thing, only a trained biologist should be trusted with some of these insects. Plus…”  
While he rambled on, a movement over his shoulder caught Luna’s eye. He’d propped a couple of jars onto a makeshift shelf, made out of a piece of plane wreckage. In a jar with a blue lid, a spider crawled its way over a single leaf. It had a narrow, black body, with yellow and black stripes down each leg. It was a little smaller than the last one she had seen, but it was still unmistakeably easy to identify.

“Leslie,” she said slowly. “What’s in that jar?”  
“Which jar?”  
“That one. The spider.”  
“Oh! This is one of my new discoveries,” he said proudly, beaming at the jar. “It’s a new species of spider! I’m thinking of naming it the Arzt spider, but that’s not set in stone. I’m also considering the Pyjama spider. Because it has striped legs, see?”  
“It’s a Medusa spider,” whispered Luna, eyes even wider than usual. This was incredible; she hadn’t yet concerned herself with testing potential wand cores, but a proven one was now sitting right in front of her. On the other hand, it was also terrifying. Diane had made it perfectly clear that this spider was very dangerous. Australia’s magical government was even maintaining muggle repelling charms around its territory. Its existence on the island had its perks for Luna, but it was also very unsettling.  
Leslie’s face fell. “No, it isn’t! It’s a Pyjama spider! An Arzt spider! I discovered it!”  
“They live in tropical regions,” said Luna, Leslie’s cranky reaction rolling right off her back. “They’re extremely rare. I know they’re found in Cape York, in Australia, but I’m not sure where else.”  
“Well, what would you know? You’re not a biologist.”  
“I know that you need to be extremely careful with that spider, Leslie. Its venom causes paralysis. You won’t die, but you’ll appear dead for about eight hours. A mugg… er, I mean, even a doctor wouldn’t be able to detect your heartbeat.” She paused. “Can I have it?”  
Leslie snorted. “If it’s as dangerous as you say it is, no way. This guy needs to stay here, where it’s safe from prying hands.”  
“Girl,” corrected Luna. “That one’s a female. Er… can you tell me where you found it, then?”

\---

Waiting for spiders to spin webs, it turned out, was much like watching for a cauldron to boil.

Luna had managed to collect two spiders. She caught a steady diet of insects for each one, encouraging the spiders to spin fresh webs between their twigs. It was working, but very slowly. She hadn’t found her luggage yet, and removing the webs would be a delicate procedure without dragon hide gloves.

“Excuse me, Hurley,” said Luna. “Do you know if we still have those containers that the aeroplane food came in?”

Luna had a hazy mental image of how best to store a growing collection of spiderwebs, and it involved those containers. She thought, if she removed the twigs from the jars with webs still attached, she could spear them through the base of one of those food containers. This way, they could remain standing. She’d avoid her webs becoming stuck against whatever she used to store them. As long as she covered them up somehow, to avoid catching grains of sand or letting the wind blow them away, the webs should stay intact.

“What, the foil ones? They’re in the caves. Jack has them with all his doctor stuff.”  
“Oh.” Luna paused. “Want to come to the caves with me?”  
Hurley looked a little alarmed at the thought. Luna knew that he found her a bit odd; she wasn’t sure whether his reluctance was due simply to the long walk, or to spending it in her presence.  
“Never mind,” she assured him. “Maybe Glen will join me.”  
At that moment, Sawyer was stalking out of the jungle, covered head to toe in mud. He stormed past Luna and Hurley, the glare on his face even angrier than usual.  
“Dude, is your name really Glen?”  
“Shut up, Sumo.”

Luna, figuring she was walking alone, ducked down to retie her shoelaces.  
“Sumo wrestlers are, like, awesome athletes,” muttered Hurley. “What does he know?”

\---

For the time being, Luna became a resident of the caves. Not only did the spiders seem a little happier there, but storing the webs would have been impossible on the beach. It was constantly windy, sometimes quite substantially so. Obviously, spiderwebs were hardy enough to endure a bit of wind, but Luna wasn’t taking any chances. The air in the caves was cool and still, which suited her task perfectly. 

The foil containers worked just as she’d hoped. After about five days, each spider had produced a reasonable web. With enormous care, Luna transferred each set of sticks out of the jar and replaced them with new ones. Before too long, she had enough to experiment. Holding her breath, she slowly picked up the first set of sticks, and began to twist the web into a fragile rope. 

“Uh… Luna?” asked Claire, hovering behind her. “What are you doing?”  
Luna was biting her tongue, putting everything she had into gently twining together the strands of web.

“I’m getting your memories back.”  
“What?”  
“And I’m helping us all get off this island. Want to help me?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
While Luna waited for her flight to Los Angeles, she watched the crowds of people swarm past. Muggle travel wasn’t all bad, she thought. She had always enjoyed people-watching, and muggle airports seemed a good place for it. Magic or muggle, people were complicated and fascinating. Luna found herself gazing at strangers in the food court, wondering where their travels were taking them. Muggle travel had a way of making the world’s enormous size more apparent, and she started to feel rather excited at the adventure that still lay before her. Once she got to Los Angeles, there was another wandmaker to meet. She couldn’t wait.

Luna tucked her knees under her chin and began a letter to Daddy.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
In the end, Luna made three wands; one out of each type of wood. They had all felt good in her hands while making them, but not one had the style of a proper wand. She had neither the tools nor the experience to get the subtleties just right. None of these wands were of even thickness. They all had some bumps, and were somewhat rough in texture. She expected that this would make a difference in their quality, but that was okay. She didn’t need a sellable wand. She didn’t even dare hope for a good wand.

For now, she would be satisfied with an adequate wand. 

She had moved to the far end of the beach. Open air, where nobody could see her. Her cardigan lay spread out on the sand, with the wands placed gently on top. All three had felt good in her hands while making them, but that may not have meant anything. There was nothing for it but to try.

She started with the banyan wand. This wood was a complete unknown to her. All she had to go on was that this particular tree felt thoroughly magical when she found it. With the banyan wand in hand, she took a deep breath and announced, “flagrate!”

Luna had intended to simply write a squiggle in the air, and for half a second she thought it had worked. But it hadn’t; the wand exploded, leaving curls of burnt wood littering the sand.

Luna was terribly disappointed. The core had obviously been strong – apparently she’d done a good job with the Medusa webs – but it must have been too much for the wood. This was the sort of thing that a book would have warned her about, but all she was able to do was guess. The optimistic side of her conceded that at least she’d learnt something about banyan wood.

With some trepidation, she picked up the vine wand. She didn’t know what sort of vine it was, but none of Mr Ollivander’s texts distinguished between different types of vine. This didn’t seem right to Luna. If she ever made it back home, she was going to ask Mr Ollivander’s advice about further study of vine wands.

She wasn’t going to use a Flagrate Charm this time. She was going to start with something much simpler. “Lumos,” she muttered.

Nothing happened.

“Lumos!” she said, flicking the wand harder. Again, nothing happened. She groaned, badly wishing that Mr Ollivander were around. He’d know what she was doing wrong. This wand might even be salvageable, but she would have to rely on trial and error. Mr Ollivander, on the other hand, had managed to make her old wand out of elements available at Shell Cottage. He was much better equipped in his workshop, of course, but it wasn’t necessary for him. In theory, it had to be possible to make a wand on this island. It was simply a matter of the right ingredients, in the right combination, with the right touch, at the right time.

She sighed. Perhaps she’d never successfully build a wand.

The mango wand was today’s last chance. She didn’t know anything about mango wood, but she knew a few things about other fruit trees. She had made plenty of wands with applewood. It was a rare person who was chosen by an apple wand; they suited idealists, loved by those around them and destined for a long life. Pear wands shared some similarities, with their preference for owners characterised by kindness and generosity. She wondered how those woods would combine with the intensity and focus of a Medusa spiderweb core. Or, more to the point, she wondered how the mango wand would.

She closed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip, tightening her grip on the mango wand. It was now or never.  
“Lumos.”  
Her hand felt warm. She almost didn’t dare to hope, but when she opened her eyes, the wand tip was alight. It flickered a little, but she had successfully conjured wandlight. The wand had worked.  
“Nox!” she shouted, and to her delight, it extinguished. 

Luna laughed, unable to hide her joy. Her new wand was far from perfect – its unsteadiness during a basic spell meant it still needed some work. The core was possibly out of alignment, and its density was inconsistent, but that was okay. She could maybe fix those things, or simply use it to build an even stronger wand. A working wand was the first, and biggest, step. 

Luna had a wand. The game was about to change.  
  
  



End file.
